


From All Sides

by theorangewitch



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Backstory, F/F, Minor Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10324961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorangewitch/pseuds/theorangewitch
Summary: "The wind is knocked out of her lungs, and she can already feel a bruise forming on each of her shoulder blades. Before Hurley can even sit up, she sees the Raven scurry back down the alley and up the wall with considerable dexterity. When she reaches the roof of the building, she looks back down at Hurley, her hair blowing in the wind coming off of the desert beyond the city. She flashes Hurley a smile that can only be described as victorious, her electric brown eyes glinting in the moonlight. “My name’s Sloane, by the way!” she calls down. Then, with a wink, she says, “See ya around, Lieutenant!” and disappears behind the edge of the rooftop."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be 10k+, because 10k+ fics are something this fandom is sorely lacking, and I can't write something short to save my life. The rating on this one may change as well, though it won't go above mature. But it should stay archive-warning free. I'll try to update bi-weekly. Every other Thursday should do the trick, to counterbalance with the TAZ release dates.

It’s supposed to be a simple job. At least, that’s what Captain Bane said, but Hurley often finds that things are hardly ever simple in Goldcliff. 

She’s a petty thief, known to most as “The Raven”, though Hurley thinks that’s somewhat melodramatic of her, picking an animal-based nickname like that. She’s stolen from a handful of shopkeepers in the slums, cat burglary only. She appears to be non-confrontational in nature. She’s never attacked anyone, only threatened a single shop boy who happened to be working late on a night when she decided to break and enter. At least, according to the reports that Bane gave Hurley she’s non-confrontational. In Hurley’s experience, she’s discovered that just about anyone will attack if cornered. 

The slums are the place to start. All manner of criminals live and do work in the slums, but the shops the Raven has been stealing from are somewhat more well off than most of the other places in the slums, so they can afford to get the police’s attention. That’s not to say that Captain Bane isn’t a good man, but the force only has so much time and personnel available, so they sometimes have to be choosy with who they help. 

Hurley is operating under the cover of night, the heat of Goldcliff giving some reprieve after the sun has set. She’s placed her hand on the stone walls that line the twisting streets, using them to guide her as she walks along. There’s only one more prominent shop in the slums that the Raven hasn’t robbed yet, and good thieves never visit the same place twice. At least, not within this short of a time span. The Raven’s robberies have been nothing short of a spree, one shop after another, each of them robbed all but blind. 

Hurley rounds a corner. She’s only a couple blocks from the supposed site of the robbery now. No one in the slums has disturbed her, though she’s felt eyes watching her from every window. The streets are silent, until they aren’t. Hurley is walking past one of the previously robbed shops when she hears a loud crash, like shattering glass. She turns on her heel and bolts up to the shop. The door is, of course, locked, but Hurley turns and looks through the window, where she can see, by the dim light of the two moons, a figure standing in the center of the shop, holding a large bundle in their arms. 

“Hey!” Hurley shouts, further breaking the nighttime silence. “Get out here with your hands above your head!”

The figure turns to look at Hurley, and then bolts toward the back of the shop. 

Hurley instantly breaks into a sprint, rounding the side of the shop towards the back, where the figure has already fled down the alley behind it. 

“Hey!” Hurley repeats. “You get back here! You’re in trouble!” Then, she gives chase. 

Hurley’s legs are shorter than the thief’s, but she’s fast for her size. The thief seems to carry a whip that trails behind them, not to mention the bundle Hurley saw them with in the shop, presumably stolen goods. Otherwise, she can’t really make out what they look like. 

Finally, the thief reaches a dead end. They press their hand against the wall like they’re going to try and climb it, but they can’t with the bundle. 

They sigh. “So, I guess I’m at the end of my line here, aren’t I?” Then, they turn around.

Her face is illuminated by a patch of moonlight that falls between the building, revealing that she’s an elf with long, dark hair, and and oval shaped face with an odd, abstract tattoo on the right side of it. Hurley knows immediately who she is. 

“Raven…” she breathes, before quickly regaining composure and saying, “Raven. You are under arrest by the Goldcliff City Militia for burglary and breaking and entering.” 

The Raven raises an eyebrow. “Pretty unlucky that I broke that display case right as you were walking by, huh? If I hadn’t done that, you would’ve gone to scope out the wrong store, and I would’ve gotten off scot-free.”

The Raven is talking so casually with her that Hurley is almost taken aback. “Listen, you’re in a lot of trouble, missy, so quit it with th-”

“Missy?” the Raven interrupts, giggling. “Missy? Really? That’s so  _ cute _ .” 

“What? What are you doing?” Hurley says, breaking her police officer’s persona and looking quizzically at the thief in front of her. 

“What I do best,” the Raven says, shrugging. “Oh, and yeah, I did rob the same store twice in one week. Betcha weren’t expecting that. Besides, there was something in there I needed to go back for.” She holds the bundle out into the moonlight for Hurley to see. 

_ Blankets?  _ Hurley wonders.  _ You can’t sell blankets for very much, why would you steal blankets _ ? 

“Hey, did I actually tell you what I do best?” the Raven asks. 

Hurley’s eyes narrow. “No…”

“I stall.” 

Then, a voice comes from behind Hurley, interrupting their conversation. “Miss Raven? You told me to meet you here?”

Hurley whirls around to see a tiny girl standing behind her, big eyes looking fearfully up at herself and the Raven. 

“Who’s she?” the girl asks, her voice quavering a bit. 

“No one you need to worry about, pumpkin,” the Raven assures her. “Now, take these blankets home to your mommy and brother, they’ll know what to do with them.”

The Raven hands the blankets to the little girl, but the whole time her eyes are on Hurley, daring her to take the blankets back. 

Hurley doesn’t move. At least, she doesn’t move until the girl has the blankets in her arms and has disappeared down the alleyway. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard?” the Raven says once the girl is out of earshot. “This city may be hot as hell during the day, but it can get pretty chilly at night. Besides, that bourgeois merchant won’t miss a few blankets.” 

Hurley folds her arms. “Maybe, but he will miss the hundreds of gold pieces you stole from him a few days ago.” 

The Raven nods, frowning. “Touché. Listen, you seem nice, but you’re gonna have to let me escape this time. But, I’ll tell you where to find me, okay? What’s your name?”

“Lieutenant H- Hang on! Why would I tell you that?! I’ll admit that what you’re doing isn’t entirely evil, but I am still bound by my office to take you in!” 

The Raven rolls her eyes. “Fine, then,  _ Lieutenant _ . Here, take this if you want to use it.” She shoves a small pamphlet into Hurley’s hand. “But I’m not going in quiet,” she continues, “You’re still a cop, and I’m still a robber.” Then, the Raven shoves Hurley as hard as she can. As Hurley stumbles backwards, attempting to regain her footing, the Raven uses her whip, wrapping it around Hurley’s ankle and pulling so that Hurley falls flat on her back in the dust. 

The wind is knocked out of her lungs, and she can already feel a bruise forming on each of her shoulder blades. Before Hurley can even sit up, she sees the Raven scurry back down the alley and up the wall with considerable dexterity. When she reaches the roof of the building, she looks back down at Hurley, her hair blowing in the wind coming off of the desert beyond the city. She flashes Hurley a smile that can only be described as victorious, her electric brown eyes glinting in the moonlight. “My name’s Sloane, by the way!” she calls down. Then, with a wink, she says, “See ya around, Lieutenant!” and disappears behind the edge of the rooftop. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hurley peels herself off the pavement, her head filled with a quiet buzzing sound. The last minutes almost feel like a dream, and it’s only when she sees the pamphlet the Raven - Sloane - handed her lying crumpled up on the that she gets her bearing. Hurley slowly leans over and picks it up. 

It’s an advertisement for Battlewagon racing. Battlewagons are a well-known phenomenon in Goldcliff. It’s technically illegal, but so many people compete and spectate that there’s no point in the militia even attempting to regulate it. So this is where Sloane will be next. 

_ Is she just a fan?  _ Hurley wonders,  _ Or is she a participant?  _ Well, Hurley doesn’t particularly want to find out. Another encounter with the Raven will probably be even more disastrous, and Hurley figures that Captain Bane will probably take her off this particular case anyway. She’ll deliver the pamphlet and all the information she gathered to Bane and then find something else to focus on. Someone else can handle the Raven. Or Sloane. Is Sloane even her real name? Or was she just trying to psych Hurley out? 

She trudges back to the station, confused and tired, a dull ache resonating in her back. She must’ve taken a harder fall than she thought. She’s dreading the upcoming conversation with Captain Bane. He won’t be mad, he’ll just be... _ disappointed _ . She’ll have to have a whole debrief with him when she just wants to go home and sleep. 

Bane is one of two people at the station when Hurley arrives. He’s sitting at his desk, mulling over some paperwork. 

“Hurley!” he exclaims when she walks in the door. “Where’s the Raven?”

“I’m sorry sir,” she sighs. “She...escaped. I gave chase, but she was too fast.” This is, of course, partially a lie, but Hurley doesn’t want to admit to the conversation she and Sloane had. 

“Did you at least get a good look at her?” Bane asks, his gaze intense. 

“Yeah, yes, I did. She was...an elf. She was an elf, a wood elf probably, with long dark hair and kind of an oval-shaped face. She carried a whip. And she was...tall. Tall for an elf, at least. Tall in comparison to me. Though I guess most people are tall in comparison to me.” Hurley laughs awkwardly. She doesn’t mention the tattoo on Sloane’s face for some reason, though it’s obviously her most defining feature. She doesn’t quite know why. 

Captain Bane sighs and buries his face in his palms. “I expected better from you, Lieutenant,” he says. “I’ll have you give the description to the artist in the morning. He’ll sketch up a wanted poster. Funny, the shop boy who glimpsed her the other night said she was wearing a mask. Was she wearing a mask this time?”

“No, sir, not that I could tell.”

“Weird. I assume she was in the process of stealing something?”

“Yeah, it was...I don’t know what she was stealing I didn’t get a good look and I didn’t stop long enough to check.” Hurley doesn’t want to reveal the fact that the Raven was stealing blankets and not something valuable. She doesn’t want to accidentally characterize her as a kind of folk hero rather than a simple criminal. 

“Was she robbing the place we predicted?”

“No, sir. She was robbing one of the merchant’s she’s stolen from previously. The only reason I saw her at all is because she made a noise as I was walking past.”

“That Raven, she’s a tricky one.” Bane taps his chin. “Do you have any other information for me, Lieutenant Hurley?” 

“No. No, sir.”

“Alright.” He stands up and moves towards the door. “We’d both better be getting home, then. See you in the morning, Hurley.”

“Sir, wait,” Hurley calls just before Bane reaches the door. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

“I uh, almost forgot. The Raven dropped this before she took off.” Hurley produces the racing pamphlet. 

Bane approaches Hurley and takes the pamphlet. “Battlewagon racing. I should’ve suspected as much. The race this is advertising is happening a few days from now. Do you believe she’ll be there?”

“It seems pretty likely.”

“Well then, you’ll have to check it out, won’t you?”

“Wait, me?” Hurley asks. 

“Yes, you. Despite the failure tonight, you’re my best officer, and I trust that the Raven won’t escape again.

“Yes, sir.” Hurley is already overwhelmed with anxiety. This is going to go terribly. 

Hurley spends the next few days dreading the race. In theory, visiting a battlewagon race has always appealed to her, though she’s never allowed herself to attend. She is an officer of the law, after all. But now, with all these extraneous circumstances, Hurley just knows that she won’t have a good time at all. The Raven clearly doesn’t want to be caught (and why would she? No criminal does), and yet she’s putting herself right in front of Hurley, like she’s taunting her. Sloane is a riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

 

Finally, the day of the race comes. 

“Now, this is an undercover mission, you can’t have anyone at the race knowing you’re in the militia, okay?” Bane says.

Hurley nods. “Of course, sir.” 

“All the racers will be in masks. Do you know what the Raven looks like well enough to pick her out?”

“I think so.”  _ I know so _ . 

“Good man,” Bane says, clapping her on the shoulder. “Woman. Halfling.”

Hurley sighs. “Thank you, sir.” It's the thought that counts. 

 

Hurley arrives perfectly on time to the race, or so she thinks. She's not going to let her anxiety about this particular case get in the way of her performance. The Raven won't get away this time. However, when Hurley arrives, the area around the starting line is already full to the brim, so much so that Hurley can't see the wagons, though she hears the sounds of revving engines. 

She isn't particularly tall, either, which is going to be problematic if she's going to spot the Raven. Hurley sighs. She doesn't even know if Sloane is here. She's not going to spot her in this crowd, that's for sure, and she can't see anyone who’s actually racing. 

She's trying to stand on her tip toes or move through the crowd when she feels a tap on her shoulder. 

“First time?” He’s a tall, gangly human man, and when he smiles down at Hurley he’s missing a couple of teeth.

“Yeah,” Hurley admits. 

“Should’a gotten here earlier,” he chuckles. “‘Specially someone o’ your stature. You ain’t gotta worry, though. Once the race kicks off everyone’ll find someplace to stand along the track, so the crowd’ll spread out a bit. I recommend going to the finish line, so you can see the grand finale.” 

Just then, the starting flare soars into the air, making a loud screech as it fires off, and Hurley hears the battlewagons zoom away just as a huge cloud of dust kicks into the air. 

“That’s our cue,” the man says. “Finish lines ‘bout half a mile that way.” Then, he disappears into the crowd. 

Within moments, the crowd begins to disperse. Some wander along the racetrack. Others seem to have a specific destination in mind, with some heading towards the odd towers that line the racetrack. 

Hurley goes in the direction the man pointed her. In the distance she can see the battlewagons kicking up dust, and she can hear the far-off sound of engines. The sun is just beginning to beat down on Goldcliff and the desert beyond. Hurley wipes some sweat off her brow. She’s in over her head, and she knows it. What is she going to do when the race finishes? Will she just arrest Sloane in front of everyone? That won’t do. Technically everyone here is participating in an illegal activity, so just arresting one person wouldn’t make sense. Besides, if the Raven is well-liked in any capacity, Hurley may be in for a fight, and she obviously can’t take this many people.

There are a few people milling around the finish line, including a two people who appear to be the commentators. Their voices boom across the desert. 

“The Crickets pull ahead!” one calls. “They suffered a crushing defeat last week after being taken out in the first leg by the Hammerheads, but they’re more than making up for it this week!” 

Hurley has no idea how they can see the battlewagons from this distance. They must have some sort of enchantment on their eyes, as they don’t appear to have binoculars. 

“Oh, but I wouldn’t be to say that, Nyx,” the other says. “The Raven is close on their tails, and she’s been quite the comeback kid lately!” 

Hurley doesn’t hear how the first commentator responds.  _ The Raven _ . She’s here, and she’s racing. Hurley just has to wait for the race to end, and then she’ll book her. Or she’ll chase her into an alley, and then book her. She really needs to work out some sort of game plan before the Raven reaches the finish line. 

The race continues. The commentators continue to give everyone updates, and Hurley’s heart jumps into her throat every time they mention the Raven. 

Finally, Hurley sees the gleam of the battlewagons on the horizon growing closer. 

“Well, Nyx, it appears that the race is drawing to a close,” one announcer says, “and the Hammerheads are in the lead, with The Raven close behind.”

“I’ll say, Jenn, this is turning out to be a real nail-biter. The Raven has stolen the last few wins right out from under the Hammerheads, and if she takes this one, she’ll be tied with them for most wins ever. That would be unprecedented for a solo racer,” the second announcer comments. 

As the battlewagons round a bend and draw closer, Hurley can finally see them. They’re magnificent in the desert sun, kicking up dust like boats kick up water. She can see the frontrunner, a massive tank-like wagon with a shark painted on it. From within, she can hear the hooting and hollering of several people. Close behind, another wagon pulls up. This one is sleeker than the tank, and is painted black with silver and grey feathers that gleam as the wagon races down the track. That must be the Raven’s, and she’s nipping at the tank’s (Hammerhead’s?) heels. 

It’s a beautiful sight, and Hurley is sure that if she blinked, she’d miss it. She hears the Raven’s wagon rev its engines, and all of a sudden, it turns into a black and silver bolt of lightning that streaks past the Hammerhead’s tank before they can even react. Within seconds, the Raven has crossed over the finish line and pulled to a stop, winning the race. Hurley is mesmerized, her eyes wide open and her mouth hanging slack even as the Hammerheads and several others cross the finish line. The commentators are going wild, shouting and cheering, but Hurley’s tuned them out because the Raven is getting out of her wagon. 

A hatch on the top has popped oven, and she clambers out, her long dark hair picked up by the wind as she exits the vehicle. She’s wearing a raven-shaped mask that covers the upper half of her face, but below it, the characteristic edge of her abstract tattoo pokes out. 

She’s smiling and waving at the crowd, and then her eyes fall on Hurley, and her smile grows. The commentators are climbing on top of her wagon to try and talk to her, but she ignores them, instead choosing to hop down off of her wagon and approach Hurley. The crowd parts around Sloane like a brown and crimson sea until Sloane stands in front of Hurley, beaming down at her. 

“I didn’t think you were here, Lieutenant,” Sloane says. “I didn’t see you at the beginning of the race.”

Hurley can’t help but beam back up at Sloane. “Well, I’m here.” 

The moment crumbles around them as a looming figure, at least one and a half times Sloane’s height and three times her width, appears behind Sloane. He grabs her shoulder, whipping her around, and yells, “What the fuck, you cheating bitch! You did this same maneuver last week, and the week before that, and the fucking week before that! You better play fair, or else.”

“I do play fair.” Sloane is strangely calm, while Hurley is shaking in her boots, sweat crawling down her forehead. “Maybe you should play better.” 

The man roars. He’s wearing a Hammerhead-shaped mask, but Hurley can still see the anger burning in his eyes from behind it. He grabs Sloane by her collar and lifts her up. 

“You listen here, you little-” 

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because the next thing Hurley knows Sloane has swung her foot up and forward to connect, hard and accurate, right between his legs. The man howls and doubles over, dropping Sloane. She lands on her feet like a cat, turns on her heel, grabs Hurley’s wrist, and takes off running with her in tow. 

As they abscond, Hurley can hear Nyx and Jenn, the two commentators, yelling from back by Sloane’s battlewagon. “The Raven has taken off with an audience member!”, one calls.

“Who in Faerûn is that mysterious halfling?” the other says.

“Wait, what about the battlewagon?” the first cries before Hurley and Sloane are out of earshot. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a little early this time around for a couple reasons: 1) I'm currently working on a project that's due in a little more than a week, so I wanted to get this knocked out so I don't have to worry about it being late next Thursday and 2) Griffin's late, so I'm early! But since that's the case, it's a little short. I hope everyone enjoys it nonetheless.

The two of them don’t stop until the hubbub of the race fades from earshot and they’re tucked away in a dark alley, out of the sight of prying eyes. 

Sloane leans against a wall, breathing heavily. “Sorry about that, Lieutenant” she says. “His bark is worse than his bite, I promise. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.” She scratches her head. “Though I will have to go back for that battlewagon at some point.” 

Hurley doesn’t respond, instead standing in a daze. She’s dizzy, her mouth dry, and she can feel something welling up inside her until she explodes. “What the  _ fuck _ ?!” she shouts, her voice cracking like lightning, breaking the hot, dry air in two. She whirls around and stares Sloane in the face with fire in her eyes. “What are you  _ doing _ ? By Baator, what am  _ I  _ doing?” 

Sloane cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“You- I- I should  _ arrest  _ you. I came here to  _ arrest  _ you.”

Sloane laughs incredulously. “Arrest me? For what? Battlewagon racing? ‘Cause we both know that’s a joke.”

“No I-  _ ughhhh _ .” Hurley slumps down on the ground and buries her face in her palms. “You just don’t get it, do you? It’s like you said, I’m a  _ cop _ . And you seem nice, you really do, but you’re a criminal. You’re in trouble, Sloane. You’re just in so much trouble. And I have to arrest you, or else I will be too.”

“No, no, I do get it,” Sloane assures her. “But you don’t  _ have  _ to do anything. Not really. You’re a sentient halfling with free will. And for all your boss knows, I was never here. You haven’t seen me.”

“You want me to lie to my boss? My boss, the captain of the Goldcliff Militia?”

“Like I said, you don’t have to do anything, but trust me, if I don’t want to be found, you won’t find me, so if you sick the rest of the force on me like a pack of dogs, I will be as scarce as any corporeal being could possibly be,” Sloane explains, “It will make my job a lot harder, and it will make yours damn near impossible. Listen, Lieutenant, I can make this a win/win scenario. You can keep chasing me, and almost catching me, and in that way you can keep doing your job, and I can keep doing my job in that I’m free to do my work for the good of the people and not be in prison or hiding out in the desert somewhere.” 

Hurley folds her arms. “How do you know that I won’t just arrest you right now?”

“Technically, I don’t. I don’t know you. But I still trust you.” She leans her head against the wall and laughs softly. “Though that goes against every piece of advice anybody’s ever given me.” 

Hurley stares at her hands. There’s no reason she should let the Raven go. If she does, she’ll be directly violating her orders from Captain Bane and the principles she’s based her whole life on up to this point. Law and order: nothing more, nothing less. And Sloane is so far from lawful, and so beyond orderly, but from the short time Hurley’s known her she can gather one thing: Sloane is good. And the way Sloane does everything she does, her battlewagon racing, the way she disappeared over the rooftop about a week earlier, even the way she moves, well. Hurley’s known quite a few elves in her time, and fey heritage is easier to spot in some. In Sloane, it’s plain as day. She’s magical. 

“Hurley.”

Sloane looks up. “Huh?”

“That’s my name. My name is Lieutenant Hurley.” 

Sloane smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Hurley. That your last name?”

“First. I don’t have a last name.”

“Seems like nobody does these days.” 

“Do you?”

Sloane grins. “Maybe. You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” She stands up, then offers and hand and pulls Hurley to her feet as well. 

“When do we see each other again?” Hurley asks. She tries to convince herself that it’s just a precaution, that she’s keeping tabs on her not-quite-quarry, but she can’t keep the hope and curiosity out of her voice. 

Sloane shrugs. “Well, I still haven’t hit up that last merchant down in the slums. Maybe you’ll catch me around there. If not, my next race is next week. Maybe you can even ride with me.”

The suggestion is delivered so casually that it takes Hurley a moment to process what Sloane just said. “ _ Ride with you _ ?”

“Well, yeah. It looks fun, doesn’t it?”

It  _ did  _ look fun. And not just fun, beautiful, too, but Hurley’s not going to admit it. “Isn’t it dangerous?” she asks. 

“Not if you stay inside. Or at least, it won’t be as dangerous. I don’t play dirty like the others, I just go fast.” Sloane’s voice is so full of confidence that Hurley can’t help but feel confident as well. Sloane puts her hand on Hurley’s shoulder. “Just think about it?”

“I will.” But in truth, Hurley’s already made up her mind. 

“Alright, well, I have to go now. Meet me here next week if you wanna ride with me.” Then, Sloane walks down the alley, and rounds a corner, disappearing from Hurley’s sight.

 

Hurley is exhausted out of her mind. She’s more exhausted than she was the last time she met Sloane. And yet, as she trudges back to the station, she feels almost elated. She’s going to ride in a battlewagon, and better yet, she’s going to ride with Sloane. She doesn’t know why her choice to let Sloane go (and let her go indefinitely this time) isn’t weighing on her more. She should feel the grim stone of resolution pulling on her stomach lining, and yet, it’s just not there. Or maybe it is there, and she just can’t sense it yet. 

She arrives outside the station, which this time is thoroughly populated by officers. The clerk gives her a cheerful wave and asks, “You lookin’ for Captain Bane, Lieutenant?”

“Yup.” She has to give him some report or another. 

“Alright, he’s in his office. See ya ‘round.” 

“See ya.” With a small wave, Hurley marches solemnly into Captain Bane’s office. 

When he sees her his face falls. “I’m guessing she got away again,” he sighs, rubbing his nose. 

“She wasn’t even there,” Hurley lies. “Or if she was, I never saw her. I couldn’t look too thoroughly without the risk of making a scene. I apologize, sir.” She’d been practicing the story ever since Sloane took off, and she makes no expression as she delivers it to Bane. 

“It’s not your fault, Lieutenant. We must’ve misread the evidence. Or maybe figured out that you got the pamphlet decided her attendance was too risky. Either way, we’ll just have to keep our eyes peeled.” He places his hand on Hurley’s shoulder. “This case is far from closed, Hurley. She’s bound to show her face again sooner or later.” 

“Do you want me to keep attending the races? There’s a possibility she may show up at one at a later date.” 

Bane folds his arms and shakes his head. “That seems like a bit of a wild goose chase. If we want to catch the Raven, we have to be precise. We have to use finesse.” Then, from under his desk, he pulls a map of Goldcliff. “This is yours to use and update in any way you see fit, with wherever the Raven pops up. If she’s playing animal, we’re gonna have to play hunter.”

“You want me to track her?” Hurley asks. 

“Precisely. You have some experience with tracking, do you not?”

“I mean, I do, but tracking Cliff Rats out in the desert is pretty different from tracking a person through a large city.”

“Well, that’s why I gave you the map,” he says proudly. 

Hurley sighs. “Very well, sir. I’ll take the map.” 

 

She strings the map up in her bedroom, on the wall across from her bed, and marks the shops that the Raven has burglarized up to this point. She also pinpoints the alley where she and Sloane had their confrontation. And then, in pencil so she can erase it later, Hurley marks the alley where she and Sloane agreed to meet if Hurley wants to ride with her next week. Hurley knows that she won’t update the map often, and may have to make some things up, but if she and Sloane are playing a pretend game of cat and mouse, then this’ll be a fair prop to use. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. Sorry this one took so long. I've been in and out of town as well as being ass-deep in AP exams (I'm sure some of you all know the struggle). It's a little longer, if that helps any. Anyway, school's ending, so I should be back on schedule from here on out. I'm also sorry if this chapter isn't entirely canon compliant. It's been a minute since I listened to Petals to the Metal, so I'm a little fuzzy on the battlewagon racing details.

Hurley goes to meet Sloane in the alley they agreed upon last week. This is the first time Hurley’s met Sloane when she isn’t undercover, so she flinches every time someone walks by the alley’s entrance. Of course, no one notices her standing in the shadow of it. It’s still early morning, so it’s not like the streets are packed anyways. Hurley agreed to meet Sloane at 6 am, a full three hours before the race begins, but of course, Sloane is late. 

It’s nearly 6:30 before she arrives, her raven mask nestled under her arm and her forehead glistening with sweat. 

“Where have you been?” Hurley almost shouts when Sloane rounds the corner into the alleyway. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Hey, I wasn’t sure if you were coming either,” Sloane retorts, folding her arms. “Besides, I had things to do before the race.”

“Am I going to here about these ‘things’ later from my boss?” 

Sloane shrugs. “Possibly. Now, do you wanna see the wagon or not?”

“The wagon?” 

“Yeah, the key to being a good battlewagon racer is having a good car that you can trust with both your honor and your life,” Sloane explains. 

“How do you trust a wagon?” Hurley asks. “It’s not living.”

“You’ll understand when you ride,” Sloane simply states. “But first, you need these.” Then, from her bag, Sloane produces a black bandana and a pair of sunglasses. “I don’t have a real mask for you yet, so these’ll have to do. You don’t want anybody recognizing you, do you?”

Hurley examines the bandana and sunglasses. “I guess not.” 

“But you don’t have to put them on yet. First I need to show what’s in my garage.” 

 

“You have a garage?” Hurley asks as they walk along. They’re criss-crossing through the slums. Hurley’s never been this deep into this section of town before, and the number of people and places she doesn’t recognize astound her. 

“‘Course I do,” Sloane snorts. “You think I’m just gonna leave my baby sitting out in the street? Any battlewagon racer with a wagon worth a damn has a place to keep to their whip.” 

Then, the two round a corner into a secluded alley and approach a, well, a garage. It’s made of adobe, the same way most of the buildings in the slums are, but it has an enormous wooden door on it that spans across almost the entire front wall. The door is padlocked to a metal loop on the ground. 

Sloane crouches down and begins to unlock the door. “I converted this place myself. I dunno what it used to be, but the front wall was caved in, so I just stuck a door on the front and voila! Homemade garage.” Then, Sloane grabs the handle on the bottom of the door and heaves upward, revealing the inside. 

The floor is littered with tools and parts, and is covered in many a stain. And of course, in the middle of the garage is Sloane’s gleaming black wagon. 

“Welcome to my humble abode. Please, step inside,” Sloane says, gesturing for Hurley to enter.

Hurley immediately approaches the wagon and runs her hand over its hood. It’s smooth and glossy, and Hurley gets lost for a moment staring at her reflection in its black paint. 

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Sloane says, walking over to stand next to Hurley. “She’s taken me years to perfect. Nyx and Jenn were kind enough to hang onto her for me when I left her at the track last week. They kept her safe. Not a scratch on her.” Sloane pauses. “Do you wanna know her secret?” 

“What do you mean?”

“This is how I’ve been winning all those races right at the last minute,” Sloane explains. She then pulls open the hood and points to a small pink crystal that’s hooked up to a number of wires. “That is an arcane core. If you stimulate it in the right way it lets out a huge burst of energy that allows you to go crazy fast, but only for a little bit. It then needs to take about a day or so to recharge. I have it hooked up to a button on the dashboard. When I press it at just the right time, I’m almost guaranteed to win.” 

“That’s incredible,” Hurley remarks. “Can I see the inside?”

“Of course,” Sloane says. “But first, you need to put this on.” She walks over to a shelf and pulls out a simple black vest before handing it to Hurley.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a safety vest. If you fall off, it forms a protective shield around you.” 

“If I  _ fall off _ ?”

“It’s not going to happen,” Sloane assures. “You won’t even leave the vehicle. You won’t need to; I don’t fight.” 

“Then why do I need this?!” Hurley says, shaking the vest. 

“It’s a safety precaution! So you don’t die!”

“I could  _ die _ ?”

“You’re not going to die!” Sloane exclaims. She places her hand on Hurley’s shoulder. “I’ll be keeping you safe, I promise. Just put the vest on. Please?”

Hurley complies, clipping the vest around her stomach and chest. 

“Now,” Sloane says, “Let’s ride.”

 

The inside of the wagon is somewhat less glamorous than the outside, with a simple bench with seat belts attached as a sitting apparatus, and a single steering wheel as well as a gear stick and two pedals, one for breaking, one for accelerating. The only other mechanical feature of the inside is a large red button. 

“Don’t press that,” Sloane says, pointing to it. “That activates the arcane core. We gotta save that for the very end. The only thing I need you to do is keep tabs on the other racers, see who we’re in front of and who we’re behind. Think you can manage that?” 

“Yep.” 

“Alright, then we’re all set.” Sloane shifts into drive, and then they’re driving down the street. “You should put your mask on by the way. Don’t want anyone recognizing you through the window.” Sloane puts her mask on as they exit the city, and suddenly she’s the Raven again, mysterious and captivating, her eyes glinting through the holes in the mask, the edge of her tattoo peaking out from under it. 

People have already begun to gather at the starting line when they arrive, and Hurley can hear Nyx and Jenn making commentary from outside. 

“And here’s the Raven, right on schedule,” Nyx says as they pull up. 

“I wonder if she’ll be able to hold up her track record from the past few races,” Jenn wonders. “I’m sure the other racers are getting pretty sick and tired of her come-from-behind wins.”

“The Hammerheads in particular seem to be pretty on edge,” Nyx adds. “Perhaps they’re planning something?” 

Hurley swivels her head around to look for the Hammerheads, and indeed, their tank-like wagon is at the starting line, revving its engines and releasing smoke from the exhaust pipe. Two of the gang’s members are sitting on top of the vehicle, appearing to be in deep conversation. 

“Aw, don’t worry about them,” Sloane comments when she sees the look of worry pass over Hurley’s face. “They don’t have the brains to plan much of anything. Nyx and Jenn are good people, but they love unnecessary speculation. Hell, it’s their job.”

Sloane’s reassurances don’t do much to put Hurley’s mind at ease, but she tries to relax anyway. 

“Hey, can you take inventory of who’s here?” Sloane asks. 

“Sure,” Hurley replies, turning back to look out the window. “Uh, Hammerheads, Crickets, Boars, Wolves, is that a stingray?”

Sloane shrugs. “Probably.” 

“Looks like those are Parrots, Dragons…and that’s it.”

“No Octopuses?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Phew,” Sloane breathes a sigh of relief. “Those people creep me out. Nyx and Jenn think that they’re secretly being controlled by an Illithid, and I almost believe it.”

Hurley raises an eyebrow. “And Illithid? Really?”

“I know, crazy, right? But you’ll see what I mean if you ever race against ‘em.” Sloane stares straight out the windshield and narrows her eyes. “The flare’s about to go off. Brace yourself.”

Hurley does, wrapping her fingers around the bench and locking up her elbows and bracing her feet against the floor, in her wide, sturdy monk’s stance. She can feel Sloane revving the engine from beneath her feet and chair. 

Suddenly, a loud screeching comes from outside and Hurley watches from the window as a bright red light fires off into the air and then, before Hurley can even register what’s happening, Sloane has slammed on the gas and Hurley is slammed into into the back of her chair by the inertia of the wagon taking off into the desert. 

For a moment, Hurley can’t see, but she can’t tell if she’s closed her eyes or if it’s simply the sheer speed of the battlewagon knocking out her occipital lobe. Her vision fades back in slowly, from black to blue-green to yellow. Hurley looks round, and she can see Sloane’s face, broken in half by the widest smile Hurley’s ever seen. It’s only been a few moments, but Hurley can’t see the starting line out her window anymore. Other wagons streak beside them, and dust flies at the windows from all sides. Hurley feels light; they’re moving so fast that she’s almost weightless, and she looks at Sloane’s elated expression and she smiles too. 

They hurtle around the track, Sloane expertly weaving between the other wagons. Hurley sees a few other wagons get into heated battles, but Sloane manages to avoid any and all carnage. The Crickets and the Stingrays crash into each other, sending several members of both teams flying into the desert, their safety vests activating and forming protective bubbles around each of them. 

The race continues without incident. Sloane is truly an expert driver, and maneuvers through the desert with near impossible finesse. 

“We’re almost to the end,” Sloane announces. 

“Are we winning?” Hurley asks. She thinks they are, but in the chaos it’s difficult to tell. 

“Well, most everyone’s been knocked out by now, and we’re miles ahead of anyone who’s left,” Sloane replies. 

Just as Sloane finishes her sentence, they hear a loud crack from the back of the vehicle, and they slow down dramatically.  

“What’s going o-” Hurley starts to say, but before she can get her words out, something lands on the roof with a  _ thud _ . 

“ _ RAVEN _ !” the man on the roof roars.

Sloane’s smile disappears. “Uh oh.” 

The Hammerhead begins to pound on the roof, creating a dent in it that grows larger with each punch. 

“Sloane, what are we going to do?” Hurley asks. The roof of the car is stretching and buckling, and she knows that sooner or later, the Hammerhead will break through. 

Sloane is tapping on the steering wheel. “Hang on, I’m working on it,” she says. She turns to look Hurley in the eyes. “You need to take over.”

“What? I can’t drive!”

“It’s simple, you’ll be a natural. Here, unbuckle your seatbelt. Just don’t take your foot off the gas, and keep the wheel straight.” Sloane unbuckles her belt and shoves Hurley into the driver’s seat. Then, she throws open the hatch on the roof and disappears outside the car. 

Hurley’ grip on the steering wheel so tight that her fingers start to go numb. Her legs are a lot shorter than Sloane’s, so keeping her foot slammed on the gas pedal is a lot more work than Sloane made it out to be. Her seatbelt’s off and she’s slouched down in her seat so that she can barely see out the windshield. She can hear Sloane and the Hammerhead going at it on the roof, and the crack of Sloane’s whip rings through the air. 

Suddenly, Hurley hears an “OOF” and the light coming in from the hatch is cut off as Sloane is knocked over into it, her legs and arms straddling over its edges. 

“How’s it going?” Hurley calls.

“He’s a lot more dextrous than he looks!” Sloane replies. Then, she rolls out of the hatch as the Hammerhead’s fist slams through the hatch right where Sloane’s body was a moment ago.

“Sl- Raven!” Hurley shouts. 

“What?” she shouts back. 

“Let me take over!” 

“I can handle it!” 

“You’re a better driver than I am, and this seat isn’t adjustable! Just get in here!”

A moment later, Sloane jumps through the hatch and slams it behind her. 

“I can take him,” Hurley tells her. 

“You sure? He’s very big, and you’re…”

“Very small, I know. That’s the point.” 

“But you don’t even have a weapon,” Sloane protests. 

“I don’t need one. Just take the wheel.

Somewhat surprisingly, Sloane does as Hurley says, and Hurley crawls up out of the hatch to face the yelling Hammerhead outside. She takes a moment to get her bearing. Her feet grip the roof of the vehicle. Balancing on top of something moving so fast is difficult, and for someone else, it might be impossible. 

Hurley looks the Hammerhead up and down, evaluating him. She can’t see his eyes through the mask, but she can see his mouth, twisted into a grimace within the mouth of the shark he’s wearing on his face. He roars in a way Hurley is pretty sure a shark cannot, and then lunges at her.

Time slows down. Hurley blinks once. Twice. She places her palms together and then, she springs into action, ducking under the Hammerhead’s flying fist and sliding between his legs. Before he can even gather what she’s done, she’s landed two punches, one on his left kidney, the other on the small of his back. The Hammerhead whirls around and lunges at her again, this time with both his hands, in what appears to be an attempt to grab her. She slides out of the way and catches him in the face with her elbow. 

He yowls, stumbling backwards and holding his nose. When he lets go, blood is pouring from it, but he doesn’t seem weakened, only further enraged. He draws a small knife and goes for Hurley again, jabbing at her throat. She ducks again, this time aiming her punches at his stomach. She connects, and the Hammerhead doubles over, dropping the knife and clutching his stomach. She grabs the collar of his jacket and uses his weight to hoist her legs into the air, slamming both her feet between his legs. He screams, straight up screeches like a banshee, which is when Hurley sees her chance. She lets go of his collar and drops to the floor, then she uppercuts him, sending his head flying backward. Then, finally, she takes one knee. He’s off-balance, but even so, a punch from Hurley’s tiny fists won’t be enough to send him flying off the vehicle. So she runs, sending herself flying at him on two feet, her head connecting squarely with his chest and hurling him off of Sloane’s battlewagon. 

Hurley looks up and stares through the windshield of the Hammerhead’s vehicle, which she notices is hooked onto Sloane’s battlewagon via a harpoon-like device. 

“Anyone else?” she calls. She can’t see the Hammerheads themselves through the windshield, but nobody climbs out of the battlewagon, so she turns around and sees Sloane with her head out of the hatch, staring and Hurley and grinning like a fool. 

Hurley dashes across the roof and jumps back into the wagon, falling almost on top of Sloane who grabs her and pulls her into an enormous bear hug. 

Sloane lets go of Hurley and punches the air. “That was  _ awesome _ ! I can’t believe you headbutted that fool right off of there, like a fucking...ram or something! How’d you learn to do that?”

Hurley looks Sloane up and down. “Hang on...how are you driving?” 

“I’m not. We’re attached to the Hammerheads, so they’re essentially pushing us. But I can fix that right...now.” 

Sloane pushes the button, and the arcane core activates. The back window smashes and there’s the awful sound of tearing metal as the harpoon is yanked from the back of the vehicle. Hurley’s never moved so fast in her life. She wonder if this is how interstellar travel would feel, if such a thing were to exist. The whole universe is being crushed around her, condensed into what feels like a bolt of pure electricity, transporting them forward, as if from the sky to the ground. 

Light and sound fade slowly back into Hurley’s world as the wagon rolls to a stop. As soon as Sloane’s opened the door, cheers come pouring in. Hurley sits, dumbstruck for a moment, and only regains her self-awareness when she feels Sloane tugging on her wrist. 

“C’mon!” Sloane laughs. “Come and greet your new-found adoring fans!” Her eyes are shining with pride and elation, and the sunlight is framing her in a way that makes her almost seem angelic. 

Hurley follows her out of the wagon without a word, and indeed, everyone around her is cheering. Nyx and Jenn make their way through the crowd to stand next to the two of them. 

“Aaaaand another successful race for the Raven,” Nyx starts, “But that’s nothing new.”

“What is new is the presence of her unforeseen partner,” Jenn adds. Then, shoving a wand in Sloane’s face, they ask, “Have you added a second Raven to your team?”

“No, she’s not a Raven,” Sloane says, looking at Hurley for confirmation. Hurley nods.  

“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what do we call this mysterious and adept new competitor?” Nyx asks, turning to Hurley. 

“Ram,” Hurley states, with a confidence that surprises even her. “You can call me the Ram.”

“Well, it’s a perfectly fitting name for a racer who headbutts her competitors off of vehicles,” Jenn laughs. Then they turn out to the crowd and announce, “You heard it hear first folks! The amazing Raven has a fantastic new teammate! The Ram!” 

Sloane whirls around and grabs Hurley, sweeping her onto her shoulders. Then, she snatches the wand out of Jenn’s hand and yells into it, “Let’s hear it for the Ram!” 

The crowd, of course, goes wild. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for being on time and also breaking 10k words! Just a warning, this chapter gets a bit angsty, so be warned.

Hurley can’t stop smiling, even when the crowd has dispersed and she and Sloane are back in the wagon driving back to Sloane’s garage. 

“You did so well!” Sloane squeals. “Are you sure this was your first time racing?”

“I’m sure,” Hurley giggles. “It’s just not my first time fighting.” 

“On top of a moving vehicle?”

“I have a very low center of balance,” Hurley explains. 

“And those moves,” Sloane continues. “I’ve never seen anything like them. I know some people who can throw a good punch, but nothing like that. You kicked him in the balls with  _ both  _ your feet for gods’ sake! I didn’t even know that was possible! Where did you learn to do that?”

“My uh. My family,” Hurley replies. 

“Fuckin’ a, what kind of family were you raised in?”

Hurley doesn’t reply. 

“Hurley? Is something wrong?” Sloane asks. 

“No, I uh. I just. I’m just wondering why you want to know.” 

“I dunno,” Sloane says, “I’m just...interested. You seem interesting to me, Hurley. Aren’t I interesting to you?”

“You are, but in a weird, mysterious way. You’re like...a spirit, almost, y’know? Or some kind of god.”

“A god?” Sloane laughs. “You flatter me, Lieutenant.”

“You’re just...unfathomable, somehow,” Hurley explains. “I wanna know more about you, but I’m afraid that something bad will happen if I do.”

“Nothing bad will happen, I promise,” Sloane says. “Here’s what I propose: I wanna get to know you, and I don’t wanna be unfathomable to you. Being considered a god by someone is nice and all, but godhood is a little more distant than I’d like to be from you.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“What I’m saying is, I need to fix my ride. That harpoon really did a number on the backside of it. And, since you’re now officially a member of my team, there are some things we need to take care of.”

“Like learning how to drive?”

“Exactly. You also need a real mask, and I need to make my seat adjustable. So, I propose that you come by the garage sometime this week, and we can make all those things happen, while I simultaneously get to know you.” 

Hurley thinks for a moment. By racing with Sloane, Hurley has already gone way behind Captain Bane’s back, by getting to know her...well, there’s no coming back from that. They’re pulling into the garage now, and Hurley turns to look at Sloane. Her raven mask is perched on top of her head and she’s looking over her shoulder as they back in, focusing on not bumping into the garage’s sides. Her tongue is poking out from between her lips, and she just looks so...normal. So normal and beautiful that Hurley can’t help but say, “Okay.”

Sloane turns back to look at Hurley. “Okay?”

“Yeah. I’d love to.” 

 

 

“Alright, so I have a plan,” Sloane announces as she pulls up the door to her garage, allowing Hurley inside. 

“You’re not gonna say hello?” Hurley asks. 

“Hello, Hurley. I have a plan,” Sloane continues. “I ask you a question, and then you ask me a question in return. We both have to answer honestly.” 

“Like truth or dare, except without the dare,” Hurley says. 

“Exactly,” Sloane says. “Truth or truth. Truth  _ and  _ truth. We’ll start off easy: what’s your full name?”

“Simple. Hurley,” Hurley responds. 

“Right. Fuck, I forgot you don’t have a last name.” Sloane walks to the back of the garage and rummages through a drawer, pulling out a wooden...thing. “Here, I made you a base for your mask. It’s vaguely ram-shaped, but you can do what you want with it.”

“I brought these,” Hurley says, swinging her bag off of her back and pulling it open, revealing a pair of real ram’s horns. 

“Woah!” Sloane exclaims, “That’s sick! Can I see?”

Hurley hands her one of the horns. 

“Where’d you get these?”

“A dead ram,” Hurley says, “There are plenty of shepherds out in the desert. You don’t have to go too far out of the city to find sheep corpses.”

“That’s kinda morbid,” Sloane remarks, “But totally awesome.” 

“Alright, it’s my turn,” Hurley says, “What’s  _ your  _ full name?”

“Sloane Maiara Pontecorvo,” she states, “That’s my full, birth name.” 

“Wow,” Hurley says, “It sounds so...royal.” 

“Trust me, it’s not,” Sloane tells her. 

“What’s it mean?” Hurley asks. 

“Well, I don’t know what Sloane and Maiara mean, but Pontecorvo is the name of the island where my family is from,” Sloane explains. 

“You ever been there?”

“No, I was born here. Never left. I probably can’t even pick out Pontecorvo on a map. Hell, I don’t even know if it exists. My mom told me about it, that it’s somewhere out in the Sea of Swords. But she probably couldn’t pick it out on a map either. We’ve been living in Goldcliff since forever, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Hurley grabs a pot of glue from Sloane’s workbench and plops down on the floor. Then, she begins to attach her ram horns to the base mask Sloane gave her. 

“So where were you born?” Sloane asks casually. 

“Out in the desert,” Hurley replies. 

“What were your parents doing out there?”

“Herding sheep, mostly. Sometimes collecting things.” 

“Was it just you and your family?”

“Hang on,” Hurley says, “I just answered a question. It's your turn to answer.”

“Hey, I just answered two questions in a row, what my name is and if I've ever been to Pontecorvo. So now you have to answer two in a row,” Sloane protests.

“Fine,” Hurley sights. She picks a knife up off of Sloane’s workbench and begins to whittle out the ram’s snout. “It wasn't just me and my parents. I didn’t have any siblings, but there were seven of us, seven families, most of us not even distantly related to one another. I mean, our races weren't even the same. There were two families of halflings, three human families, one family of tieflings, and a half-orc with her human mother, elven stepfather, and a bunch of her half and stepsiblings.”

“So you were just wandering around the desert, herding sheep?”

“Basically. So what's your deal? I mean, you're from Goldcliff, obviously, but do you have a family?”

“Yes. Well, I  _ had  _ one,” Sloane answers. “I had a mom and an older brother and that's it. Now tell me about this...clan of yours. How did your family fit in? Did you have friends?”

“Well, Mom was a shepherd and Dad took care of me mostly. There were two other kids my age who I played with, the half-orc girl, Adie, and a human boy, Noam. Now who taught you to fight? Was it your mom? Or your brother?” Hurley asks. 

“Yeah, they taught me a few things here and there, but really,” Sloane says. Up to this point, she was welding the tear in the back of the wagon together, but now she turns off her blowtorch and flips up her mask before climbing on top of the vehicle and spreading her arms. “The streets taught me. The slums are bad now, but ten, fifteen years ago? They were barely liveable. You couldn’t turn a corner without getting mugged. I learned to take a punch when I was pretty young, and then later on I learned to throw a few in return.” She takes a fighter’s stance on top of the wagon and punches the air a couple of times to demonstrate. “Sure, I’m no martial arts master the way you are, Lieutenant, but I’ve certainly learned how to hold my own. And speaking of martial arts, where did you get your moves? I’ve never seen anyone move that quickly in my life.” 

“It’s simple, we didn’t have any weapons beyond our shepherd’s crooks, so everyone in our group had to fight with our hands if we wanted to stave off bandits and wild animals. I wasn’t any exception. I wasn’t even the best at it,” Hurley explains. “Where’d you get your whip?”

“Wait, my vehicle or my weapon?” Sloane asks, sitting down on the roof of the wagon with her feet dangling off the side.

“Both.”

“One at a time, Hurley. I get to ask you a question in between those two.”

“Alright, your weapon then.”

“I bought it,” Sloane says.

“You did? You didn’t steal it?”

“Nope. I bought it fairly with money I earned myself.” 

“You had a job?”

“I did.”

“What was it? How did you get it?”

“Slow down,” Sloane laughs. “First, tell me why you’re not a shepherd now. Did you just get bored of all that sand?”

“You know, you’re not doing much to alleviate my perception of you being mysterious,” Hurley huffs. 

“Alright, you don’t have to tell me any more about your family, but you do have to help me install a new back windshield. Can you do that?”

“I can try. I can’t say I’ve ever done it before, though.”

“I’ll show you,” Sloane says. 

Hurley puts down her mostly-complete mask and follows Sloane to the back of the vehicle. Sloane lifts up a huge sheet of glass and shows it to Hurley. “This is the new windshield. It’s fireproof. But first, we need to get all this broken glass outta here. Here.” She picks up a strange tool that looks like a miniature crowbar. “Dig that under the edges of the glass and pop ‘em off. You’ll have to cut through a bit of glue. Then I’ll go around and scrape the rest of the glue off.”

“Okay,” Hurley says before getting to work prying the shards of broken glass out of the frame.

“It started because my mom got sick,” Sloane begins. “She and my brother were both working, but she got sick and had to stay home. Except there rent that was due, and it was the first time we’d had a home in years, so we needed a little bit of extra money. So my brother found a couple of odds jobs for me, mostly in rich people’s houses. I made some money, Mom got better, and we continued to make rent. Except she got sick again, so I had to go back to work. I got a more permanent job in someone’s house, cleaning for them. This time, it took longer for Mom to get better. And when she did, I didn’t quit my job, which turned out to be a good thing, because she got sick again a short time later. She needed medicine, visits from clerics, healers. Those things weren’t free. My brother took a second job as a mechanic.”

“Is that where you learned about vehicles?” Hurley asks. 

“Precisely. And well, even all the medicine and healers didn’t help. Mom didn’t get better, and one day, she died.”

That stops Hurley cold. “Sloane, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sloane sighs. “But it wasn’t like we weren’t expecting it, y’know? But I kept working, and without all the medicine and stuff to pay for, I began to make a little extra. That’s when I bought the whip. Before that, I’d only ever had knives. I saw it in a weapons shop, and I figured I deserved something cool.”

“What were their names?”

“Whose?”

“Your mom and brother. I know it’s not my turn to ask a question, but can I have this one?”

“Ciara and Bran. Those were their names. Ciara and Bran Pontecorvo.” 

They don’t speak for a little while after that, working silently to clean the broken glass from the windshield frame. 

“Do you want to go back to your mask? I can put the new windshield in on my own,” Sloane says. 

“Sure,” Hurley responds. “Do you have any paint?”

“There’s some in the back.”

Hurley pulls out some cans of grey, brown, and black paint and begins to paint the ram’s snout. “You can’t fight a dragon with your fists,” Hurley says as she brushes the brown up and down the front of the mask. 

“What?” Sloane says, turning around. 

“There was a dragon. It moved into a cave somewhere along the river. Our sheep grazed along the river, y’know? It’s where there’s grass. But the dragon moved in and started snatching them. And those sheep...they were all of our  _ lives _ . Our whole ecosystem, our family dynamics, how we traded with other clans, it was all based around those sheep. And the dragon was picking us clean. It would swoop down whenever it was hungry, and carry off a sheep or two,” Hurley explains. “Our flock was being depleted, and pretty rapidly, too. So we were faced with a choice. Either we could leave the area, which meant probably wandering in the desert for months until we could locate another source of water and vegetation, or we could try and find the dragon and kill it.

“So the adults left to find it. I wasn’t old enough to go with them, neither were Adie and Noam. We were the oldest of the children left behind. We were supposed to watch out for the younger kids and the sheep while the adults were gone, y’know?” Hurley continues. “Only...they didn’t come back. A day passed, then two, then three, then four. A week passed and they didn’t come back. Then two weeks. And slowly we realized that they weren’t coming back.” 

“What did you do?” Sloane asks. She’s standing still now, staring at Hurley, her hand pressed against the back windshield of the wagon. 

“Nothing, at first. We kept taking care of the kids. We didn’t say anything to them about our parents, of course. How do you explain to a toddler that she’s never going to see her mommy again? Even though she keeps crying for her?” Hurley says. She looks Sloane in the eyes now, and something unknowable passes between them. “But then our supplies started running low. We knew we had to leave, so we did.” 

“Where did you go?”

“Where do you think? Goldcliff. It was the only population center that we knew of. We barely had enough supplies to get there. And it was beautiful, y’know? A shining oasis. We’d never seen buildings so tall and so shiny.”

“And what did you do once you got here?”

“We checked ourselves and all the little kids into an orphanage. There was nothing else we  _ could  _ do.”

“What were your parents’ names?” Sloane asks softly. 

“Moshe and Yael.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Every day.”

Hurley finishes painting her mask, and Sloane finishes installing the windshield. “That seems like enough for today,” she announces when she’s done. “I’ll have to make the seat adjustable later.”

Hurley shrugs. “Eh, don’t bother. I don’t have to drive.”

“Listen,” Sloane says, pointing at Hurley, “You’re going to learn to drive if you wanna be my partner, and you can’t do that if your little feetsies can’t reach the pedals.”

“Don’t be insulting,” Hurley sniffs. She picks her mask up off of the workbench and ties it around her face. “What do you think?” 

“Looks great!” Sloane exclaims, flashing Hurley a wide smile and giving her two big thumbs up. “Can I ask you one more question? It’s a lighter one, I promise.”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Why the ram? I mean sure, you headbutted a dude off a car the way a ram does, but is there any significance other than that?” Sloane asks. 

“I dunno, sheep remind me of my family, and my home. It’s not really any deeper than that, except ‘the Ram’ sounds cooler than ‘the Sheep,” Hurley answers.

Sloane nods. “True, true.”

“What about the Raven?” Hurley asks. 

“It was my brother,” Sloane says, smiling slightly. “His name means raven, in Elvish. And when we were kids, he would make up stories about the three of us, or two of us after Mom died, sprouting big black wings and flying out of the slums, over the desert, and into the sky. He always went on and on about being free, and to him ravens were the freest things out there. So of course, when we took up battlewagon racing, we had to be called the Ravens.”

“Where is he now?” Hurley asks. 

“He’s in jail, of course. Isn’t that perfectly ironic?” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woosh. Sorry this took awhile. I have a few excuses, but none are very valid. I hope this chapter makes up for it, at least in part.

When Hurley returns to work, Captain Bane is waiting for her at the door, frowning with his arms crossed. Hurley immediately senses anger, and almost takes a step back when she sees him. 

“Sir?” she says.

“Lieutenant Hurley, it has been a full two weeks since I gave you the Raven assignment, and I have had zero updates from you on her. What has been going on with you lately?” he says, his voice straining against his teeth. 

“I’m very sorry sir, but nothing has happened that is worth reporting,” Hurley tells him.

“That’s just not true, Hurley! The Raven has committed two more burglaries, one in the slums, as per usual, but she also broke into a house closer to uptown. In  _ your  _ neighborhood, in fact. You didn’t report either of these things to me, I had to find out about them from my beat officers!” Captain Bane’s voice is going up in both volume and pitch, and the two of them are drawing many nervous glances from the other officers.

“Sir, I-”

“Hurley, I can’t believe I have to ask you this, but have you been shirking your duties?”

Hurley stops. A mix of horror and relief washes over her. “I’m sorry sir,” she murmurs, glancing at her feet. “If you have to take this job away from me I understand.” 

Bane sighs. “No, Lieutenant. Against my better judgment, I’m not going to do that. I still believe in you, and that you can do better. I’m going to need you to bring your map in, however, so we can review it together. If the Raven is stealing from the upper class now, we’re going to have a lot of unhappy customers.”

“With all due respect, sir, we’re the militia. We don’t have customers.”

“Still, it’s better to keep the peace,” Bane posits. “Lieutenant Hurley, I trust you with my life. And more importantly, I trust you with this job. I just need you to report to me more often.”

“I will sir. I promise.”

“Good. We’ll have the Raven caught in no time.” 

Captain Bane is about to re-enter his office when Hurley calls out to him, “Sir!”

“Yes, Hurley?” he says, turning back around. 

“I know her last name. It's Pontecorvo.”

Bane stops and marvels at her. “How in the Forgotten Realms did you figure that out?” he asks.

“I was doing some research. Bran Pontecorvo is in jail here, and she matches every description for his sister. I just found that out over the weekend. I came in to tell you.” As soon as the words exit her lips she feels her heart sink into her stomach. 

“What a development!” Bane exclaims, breaking into a grin. “We have to find out if she owns any property, that's the first step. And we have to talk to the brother. He must know something. I'll get right on that. You should take in the data from the past couple of weeks. Work on tracking her movements.” 

“Right. I'll get right on that.” 

Hurley passes through the rest of the day in a haze, and she trudges home as soon as her shift ends, not even stopping to say goodbye to the clerk. She doesn't respond to Sloane’s letter that's waiting on her doorstep when she gets home, either. Instead, she slumps upstairs and into her bedroom and sits down on her bed, staring up at the wall where the map of the city hangs. She hasn't touched it since the day Bane gave it to her, but now she gets up and marks the updated “Raven sightings” on the map. She doesn't mark anything else, however. She's already revealed too much of Sloane’s information. 

  
  


The next week also passes in a haze, with two more of Sloane’s letters going unanswered. They're supposed to meet up over the weekend so Sloane can really teach Hurley how to drive, but Hurley can't bring herself to get out of bed on the day of their meeting. 

Evening comes. Hurley still hasn't left the house. She knows she made Sloane wait for her out in the desert, but she can't even bear to write to her, much less look her in the eye.

She's halfway asleep when a knock comes at her window. Hurley bolts upright and jumps off her bed on to the ground, fists raised, ready to take on any intruder, only to see Sloane, grinning sheepishly at her through her window. 

“Sloane?” Hurley says, hurrying over to the window and flinging it open.

“Look at Miss Fancy-Pants,” Sloane laughs, “She's got  _ glass  _ on her windows.”

“What are you doing here?” Hurley asks. 

“You missed our date. I was worried.”

Hurley almost smiles, but is suddenly overcome with confusion. “Hang on. How do you know where I live?”

“Followed the postman I asked to deliver a letter to you one day. They know where everybody lives, y’know. Can I come in?” Sloane asks. She's hanging onto the windowsill with considerable strength.

“No!” Hurley exclaims, backing away from the window. “Why didn't you just knock on my front door?”

“Aw, you know me, Lieutenant.”

Hurley folds her arms and gives her a heavy stare. 

“C’mon, Hurley, work with me here. You didn't answer any of my letters and you didn't come out to the desert today. Are you sick? Is something else wrong?”

Hurley huffs and walks back over to the window. She bows her head and steels her resolve, straining her knuckles against her windowsill. “No, Sloane. I'm fine. Please get out of my window frame.”

Sloane sighs. “Okay. If you say so.”

The next thing she knows, Sloane has a hand around Hurley’s collar and the two of them are hurtling downward towards the cobblestone street below. 

“Owww,” Hurley moans once she comes to her senses. The darkening sky that she's staring up at is tinted lime green around the edges of her vision and there's the sound of something like rushing water in her ears. Nothing feels broken, at least not yet, but she'll be bruised to hell for sure. Then she notices Sloane’s hand, which is cradling her head, protecting it from impact with the ground. 

“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” Sloane asks.

“I think so? I don't think anything’s broken, anyway.”

“If you had to assign an arbitrary point value to how hurt you got, what would it be?”

“Wha- I dunno, six, maybe? Six hurt? That doesn't make any fucking sense.”

“I guess not,” Sloane says. “But I think I got five hurt.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause you knew you were about to fall fifteen feet out a window before it happened, you absolute asshole.” 

“Hey, I got your attention, at least. Now will you tell me what's wrong?” 

“Are you kidding me? You pulled me out a window, and now you think I'm  _ more  _ likely to tell you personal shit?”

“Well, yeah.” Sloane pauses and then flips over on her stomach so as to get a better look at Hurley. “I'm sorry I pulled you out a window, Hurley. It was impulsive of me. But I do really want to know what's going on. You're trying to cut off contact with me for some reason, and I feel like I have the right to know why. It's like you're breaking up with me, only we aren't even dating. Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble again?” she jokes, giving Hurley a slight grin.

Hurley sighs and rolls over on her side to look Sloane in the eyes, wincing as her back leaves the ground and her bruise muscles shift around her aching bones. “No, Sloane, I did something wrong,” she admits. “But you might be in trouble. And you’re right, you do have the right to know.” 

“What is it?”

“I told the Captain your last name.”

“Oh.” Sloane says. She closes her eyes briefly, and her eyebrows knit together for a millisecond. “Well, I never really use that anymore, so it shouldn't be too big a deal,” she sighs.

“I'm so sorry Sloane. I'd explain why, but it wouldn't really help, I don't think. It wouldn't excuse what I did.” 

“I guess he knows about Bran then, too.”

Hurley nods sadly. 

“Well, Bran isn't a snitch, so I should be covered there. But it isn't like he knows much about me these days, either.” 

“You don't visit him? Or write him?”

“First of all, they moved him to the big prison west down the cliffs aways, so it's a bit of a hike from here, secondly, this is the kind of scenario I've always planned for, y’know? That someone would find out that I'm a thief or whatever. I don't want the prison guards arresting me as soon as I walk in the front door, or finding out anything about me, ‘cause you know they read those letters. And finally, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah. It happens.”

“But you don't have any property under your name? Like the garage?”

Sloane scoffs. “Absolutely not. I've been squatting there for years. No one cares. The place is registered in the name of a woman named Cora Black, and she's dead, so…”

“That's a relief.” 

“So why did you do it? Spill all my dirty secrets that I entrusted to you under blood oath, I mean.” 

“He was yelling at me - Bane was, the Captain, I mean. I haven't been keeping him up to date on your case at all, and he was really mad. I'm still supposed to be hunting you, you know. I was just relieved that he didn’t suspect me of being a traitor, only of being lazy,” Hurley explains. “And it just sort of...came out. I had to give him something. I know I shouldn't have. I should've just let him walk away, or maybe walked away myself.”

“Yep, you sure should've. But you can't go back on it now,” Sloane tells her, sitting up. “What you can do is come up with a better plan for keeping me a secret, keeping  _ us  _ a secret, while still satisfying the Captain’s demands for information. But let's not worry about it now. I still have a driving lesson to give you.” 

“You wanna do that now?” Hurley asks, sitting up as well. 

“Sure! Why not?,” Sloane exclaims. “The desert is nicer at night anyway, as I'm sure you know. Besides, we really shouldn't be having personal conversations like this in public, even if we are just sitting on the ground of a tiny alleyway next to your house. Not to mention the fact that I left my car out there. Again.” 

  
  


The racetrack is much different in the darkness and silence of the growing evening than in the heat and noise of the race days, with Nyx and Jenn’s voices booming out over the crowd. It’s peaceful, and Hurley can see the desert beyond, stretching out for hundreds of miles. The rivers stretch out too, and if Hurley squints, she can follow them with her eyes almost to the horizon, where they disappear back to their sources in the mountains that scrape up against the distant sky. 

“Here’s my wagon,” Sloane announces as they approach the vehicle. “I’ve made some minor adjustments to it. Your feet should be able to reach the pedals now, for one thing.”

“You added wings,” Hurley notices, stopping to marvel at the wagon. Indeed, instead of silver painted-on wings on the sides of it, it now has great, black three-dimensional wings tapering off the back. 

“Sure did!” Sloane says proudly. “Maybe now she’ll really fly.” She opens the driver’s side door for Hurley. “Hop in.” 

Hurley does, taking her place behind the wheel and adjusting her seat. Though she can definitely see out the windshield now, her view of the ground is still partially obscured. 

Sloane climbs in the passenger’s side. “Now, first, turn the car on by pressing this button. Don’t touch anything else, just turn it on. Now, flip this and take the break off. It’s already in forward mode, so you don’t have to worry about that unless you want to go backwards, which you probably won’t have to do during the race. During the race, you’ll be going full speed, but for now, just take it slow.”

Hurley lightly presses down on the accelerator and the wagon lurches forward, causing her to grip the steering wheel and gasp slightly. 

“That’s okay, you’re doing great,” Sloane assures her once they’ve gotten going. “Now steering is pretty easy to understand, turn the wheel left to go left, and turn it right to go right. Turn it further for a sharper turn, and lighter for a wider turn. It’s a little different backing up, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Hurley gently pulls the wheel to the right and lo and behold, the vehicle curves to the right. As she gets the hang of steering, Hurley begins to press down harder on the gas pedal, and soon they’re speeding through the desert, kicking up a stream of dust behind them. They curve in between the cactus as the moon rises higher in the sky, moonlight glimmering off the hood of the wagon. 

“You’re doing it, Hurley!” Sloane giggles as they speed up yet again. 

“I’m doing it!” Hurley agrees, laughing out loud. 

Then, suddenly, a small dark shape darts out in front of the speeding wagon. 

“Cliff rat!” Sloane shouts, and Hurley yells, letting go of the steering wheel and accidentally slamming on the gas. Sloane reaches over and jerks the steering wheel over the the right and yells, “Break! Hurley, break!” 

Hurley shifts her foot and slams it down onto the break, sending the wagon to a screeching halt. As soon as they’ve stopped, Hurley looks over at Sloane and asks, “Did we hit it?”

“No,” Sloane says. “Disaster averted.” 

Hurley breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you Sloane. I could have crashed us. You saved us.”

“You wouldn’t have crashed us,” Sloane says. “There’s nothing out here for us to crash into.”

“Still. Thanks.”

“Hurley,” Sloane says. 

“What?”

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m just...not good at driving I guess.” Hurley lets out a weak laugh. 

Sloane reaches out and brushes a curl of Hurley’s hair out of her face. Hurley turns to face her and sees Sloane’s expression, honest and concerned and honestly concerned and so beautiful in the moonlight. And then, without thinking, Hurley leans in to kiss her. It’s brief at first, and Hurley pulls away as quickly as she leaned in. Sloane stares at her with wonder in her eyes, and then leans in to kiss Hurley again. 

The quiet of the desert wraps them in a blanket of peace as Sloane scoops Hurley into her arms. “From the day I met you, you were so incredible. I can’t even define it,” Sloane whispers into Hurley’s cheek. 

“I can’t define you either,” Hurley replies, laughing and hooking an arm around Sloane’s neck. “You’re as vast as this desert, as beautiful as this night sky.”

“You should change your profession,” Sloane says. “You should be a poet.” 

“Pssh,” Hurley laughs, and then goes to kiss Sloane again, burying their lips together. 


End file.
